


problems (and how to solve them)

by driftingcactus



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Bad Humor, Crack Treated Seriously, Diners, Feelings Realization, Fluff and Crack, M/M, okay this started off as crack and then turned into Not Crack, san is an absolute angel, whoops, wooyoung is a hot mess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-17
Updated: 2019-07-17
Packaged: 2020-06-30 01:03:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19842292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/driftingcactus/pseuds/driftingcactus
Summary: right now, in this moment, there are only two things on wooyoung’s mind. first, vanilla coke tastes suspiciously like chapstick, and second, san is ridiculously attractive, even though he’s wearing the ugliest excuse of a sweater ever created. he can’t tell which one affronts him more.(or, wooyoung cries over soda and his feelings for his best friend).





	problems (and how to solve them)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nayusgf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nayusgf/gifts).



> okay so i got this idea last night when i drank vanilla coke and was like . why does this literallt taste like chapstick
> 
> sum how i made that into a fic and this Hot Flaming Mess was created
> 
> at first,, it was just supposed to be a short crack drabble but it became More than that and i kinda hate it now but that’s life !’
> 
> kind of edited now & dedicated to becca who held my hand thru the writing process
> 
> stan ateez !!

wooyoung is having a grade-a crisis right now. like, astronomically high on the scale of crisis rankings, somewhere between throwing up on a crush, and accidentally sending a completely _not appropriate_ picture to his mom. (maybe even higher, but the clusterfuck of overlapping thoughts in wooyoung’s brain doesn’t let him dwell on where it falls for too long).

so, like all other times where he is on the verge of locking himself into his room and screaming into his pillow, he calls san.

sweet, precious, san. his best friend in the whole world who wooyoung would probably take a bullet for. _probably._

“ _san,”_ wooyoung whines into the phone once the call goes through, forgoing a proper greeting. he’s too far into panic mode to even bother with a simple, “ _sup, fucker.”_

“wooyoung,” the name is sighed out, rough and crackly through the speaker of his phone. san sounds equal parts tired and worried. “do you realize what time it is?”

wooyoung opens his mouth to respond, then closes it once he realizes that he has absolutely no idea what time it is. interesting. 

“the concept of time is fake, precious saniel,” wooyoung quips, not answering the question. san sighs again, and wooyoung takes a moment to look at the time displayed on the top of his phone. 

“it’s 3 in the morning, wooyoung,” san grumbles out, at the same time that wooyoung processes that it’s actually really late. he feels just a _little_ guilty once he realizes that he probably woke san up, but in times of need, you gotta do what you gotta do.

“actually, it’s 3:23 in the morning, but i’ll let it slide. anyways, that’s not the point!” he whines into the receiver again, rolling out of his haphazardly strewn blanket pile. 

“are you hurt?” san asks, and wooyoung can practically picture the furrow of his brow and the almost-bored downturn of his lips. 

“not physically,” wooyoung pouts.

“are you on the verge of dying?” 

“..no,” wooyoung admits, a frown tugging at his mouth. before his best friend can interject again, he adds: “but san, i promise i have a valid reason for calling! i’m having a _crisis!”_

the line goes silent for a little, before san speaks up. “how bad?” wooyoung can hear shuffling in the background when it’s asked, meaning that san was probably getting out of bed. _success,_ he thinks to himself. 

“worse than that time i accidentally sent in a link to tentacle porn instead of my final essay for english lit.” wooyoung almost shudders thinking about that day, recalling mr. park’s disturbed face as he stopped wooyoung after class.

(“while i respect your... tastes, mr. jung,” the teacher said, adjusting his glasses and not quite looking wooyoung in the eye. “i’m afraid that unless you send me an actual essay, you won’t be passing english.” wooyoung flushed bright red down to his _goddamn toes_ and sputtered, promising the teacher that he attached the wrong link to the email, and swears that he would get in his essay right after class. safe to say, he _did not_ get an a as his final grade). 

san doesn’t respond for a good amount of time, but wooyoung can make out the sounds of keys clinking against each other. “give me 10 minutes, kay?” he finally says, hanging up the call before wooyoung can add anything else. 

choi san truly was an angel. 

-

exactly 8 minutes later, while wooyoung is picking at the loose threads in the rips of his jeans, his phone lights up with a notification from san.

**sanie my bb :^)**

im outside stinky u better b ready

wooyoung snorts, peeking out his window to see that san’s beat up jeep wrangler is in fact waiting in front of his house. wooyoung not-so-secretly loathed the car, much to san’s dismay. 

( _“i_ saved up money for a whole year to get mina!” san exclaimed, outraged, when wooyoung flat out told him that the jeep was a waste of money.

wooyoung raised an eyebrow at san’s choice to name the car, picking at his nails with disinterest. “that doesn’t make jeeps any less ugly, or expensive.”

“you take that back! mina is precious!”

eventually, after arguing for 15 minutes straight, wooyoung gave up. san _did_ drive him everywhere, he supposed, so he couldn’t really be picky about san’s bad taste in cars).

grabbing his phone, wooyoung decides not to risk waking up his parents, and climbs out of the window, latching onto one of the sturdy branches of the tree nearby. he can already hear san nagging at him for choosing the “ _most dangerous way”_ to sneak out, but the tree has worked fine for the last 18 years of his life, and wooyoung’s sure that it’s gonna last a few more. 

he pats the trunk of the old oak tree almost fondly, climbing down and hopping off with a small _oof._ san, unamused, rolls his eyes at wooyoung before unlocking the doors, and wooyoung slinks into the passenger seat with a grin. 

“one day, woo,” san hums, voice still scratchy with sleep, backing out of his parking spot with an arm behind wooyoung’s headrest. “a branch is gonna snap off that tree and you’re gonna crack your skull open.” despite his nagging, the corner of his mouth is tugging up into a small grin, and wooyoung flicks his bicep playfully. 

“who says i don’t want that to happen?” wooyoung winks, stretching his arms out behind his head, tucking one of his legs under the other. he can feel the panic slowly sliding off of him because of san’s presence, and wooyoung really couldn’t have asked for a better best friend. 

the car ride continues with comfortable silence, and wooyoung, trying to distract himself from _the crisis,_ takes a moment to flick his gaze over to san. his bleached hair is ruffled, some parts sticking up messily, and wooyoung can’t help but think that he looks softer like this, in the early hours of the morning. san’s glasses are perched on the bridge of his nose instead of the contacts he usually has in, and wooyoung’s mouth opens to tease him about it, when he notices _it._

_it_ is a horrific, neon green abomination that hangs loosely on san’s skinny frame. the collar of it is jagged, like someone carelessly snipped at it, wide enough to show off san’s collarbones, and the broad expanse of his shoulders. _what the—why am i oogling san’s collarbones?_ he thinks, snapping himself out of his daze and going on to glare at the neon green _mess._

“san,” he calls out, burning holes into the ugly knitted material that bunches up around his wrists with his gaze, and san hums distractedly, taking his eyes off the road to glance at wooyoung. 

“what troll did you steal that .. _thing_ from?” wooyoung quips, motioning to the fluorescent monstrosity. san quirks a brow and looks down at himself, before throwing his head back with a cackle. 

san grins, dimples carving into his cheeks. “you mean my sweater?” he asks, amusement clear in his voice.

“i refuse to call it a sweater,” wooyoung snorts, poking through one of the small knit holes. “it’s more of a tribute to every bad 80s fashion trend.” 

san has the decency to pretend to be offended, lips pulling down into an exaggerated frown, but mirth still sparkles in his eyes as he turns his gaze back onto the road. “listen, i get that _you_ probably wouldn’t make it work, but there’s no need to be jealous that i’m pulling it off effortlessly,” san hums, wiggling his eyebrows. “besides, it was the first clean top that i found. don’t be too mean to it, i got it on sale!” 

wooyoung wants to retort back, but san isn’t _wrong._ he does somehow pull it off, making the ugly sweater seem charming, even. stupid san and his good genes. 

crossing his arms over his chest, wooyoung clicks his tongue. “arrogance isn’t a good look on you, saniel.”

the buildings start looking more familiar, and wooyoung guesses that they’re probably only a couple more minutes away from the diner. 

“anything is a good look on me, woo,” the blond jokes, shoving wooyoung’s shoulder as they both break out into giggles. it settles into a comfortable silence again, and wooyoung refrains from turning on the radio, pulling up his other leg onto the seat and resting his chin on his knees. the seatbelt digs into his chest a little uncomfortably, but he ignores it, mind straying back to _the crisis_ again. _you make a big deal out of everything,_ his brain tells him, and wooyoung can’t find it in himself to disagree. _it’s not even that serious, but you still woke up san and now you’re bothering him._ he frowns down at his knees, the beginnings of panic beginning to claw at his chest again, but the tapping of san’s fingers on the dashboard snaps him out of his thoughts. 

without thinking it through, wooyoung grabs his best friend’s hand, and san’s fingers stop tapping. for a second, wooyoung’s worried that he made a mistake, and is about to pull away, but san intertwines their fingers and squeezes wooyoung’s hand, reassuring, and warm. his heart stutters.

“what’s with the face?” san jokes, trying to lighten the heavy mood that settled into the car, tapping his pointer finger over one of wooyoung’s knuckles. “is my hand not good enough for you? i’m wounded, truly.”

wooyoung huffs out a laugh, rolling his eyes. “shut it, dingus. if anything, my hand isn’t good enough for _you.”_

the 24 hour diner looks almost eerie at this time, street lights flickering as the neon sign casting a blue glow over the parking lot. it looks like something out of a b-rated horror movie, or even worse, an episode of riverdale, wooyoung thinks as he stumbles out of the jeep, tripping on nothing.

san, watching it happen, just cackles at him, high-pitched laugh echoing in the practically empty parking lot. wooyoung’s brows draw together, and he sticks his tongue out, shoving at san’s side. 

“this is bully behavior!”

regardless, the other continues to laugh at him, honest-to-god wheezing. “it’s not even that funny, san, you absolute loser.”

san, grinning wide, just slings an arm over wooyoung’s shoulder, bumping their heads together affectionately as his laughs die down. “it is totally that funny, dork-lord. that’s what you get for calling mina ugly all the time.” 

“the car _is_ ugly, san,” the shorter boy sighs, shrugging san’s arm off of him with a playful glare. the bell above the door of the diner jingles as they walk in, and as expected, the place is practically deserted.

the diner was the textbook definition of unremarkable, but wooyoung and san didn’t come here for it’s looks, he supposed. (really, this place just had the cheapest fries). its walls were a gaudy shade of ocean blue, neon pink dolphin signs hung up over each booth, with a beat-up jukebox resting in the corner. the booths were a once-polished shade of red, worn out with time and slightly ripped, and wooyoung could already feel the always-sticky tables underneath his hands. the tables always seemed to have a film over them, no matter how many times wooyoung wiped them down with napkins.

currently, there was only one waitress working, her grape-soda colored hair tied into two messy pigtails. she seemed bored, from the way her thumb idly scrolled through her phone as she popped the gum in her mouth. upon hearing the bell ring, she looks up and plasters a small customer-service smile onto her face. 

wooyoung tugs san into the booth all the way in the corner of the diner, sliding into one of the seats. san, bemused, sits across from him, drumming his fingers against the table. 

“fries and a coke, yeah?” san asks, bumping wooyoung’s foot with his own. wooyoung grins crookedly, kicking san’s leg lightly. 

“wow, san, remembering my order? you know how to make a boy feel special,” wooyoung coos, saccharinely sweet as he bats his lashes at san. the other boy rolls his eyes, but wooyoung doesn’t miss the smile tugging at the corners of his lips. 

“you order the same thing every time, doofus.”

their waitress comes over a minute later, smiling sweetly. “what can i get you guys?” she asks, managing to sound simultaneously cheery and dead-tired. the waitress — yerim, according to her name tag — is really pretty, in a girl next door way, and it takes wooyoung a few seconds to process what she said, eyes blinking. 

“just a coffee for me, and a side of coke and fries for him,” san answers for him, offering the waitress a charming smile, dimples and all. yerim brightens up at the sight of it, and she hums, writing down the order on her notepad. 

“sure thing, hun, it’ll be just a few minutes,” yerim sends another smile san’s way, and wooyoung can’t help but raise an eyebrow. 

when she walks away, pigtails bouncing, wooyoung speaks up. 

“you’re not hungry?” he asks, stretching his legs out and plopping his chin into his hands.

“it’s almost 4 am, wooyoung, and not everyone has a never-ending appetite like you,” san laughs, eyes scrunching up. somehow, his ugly sweater only looks uglier under the harsh lights above the booth. wooyoung squints menacingly at it. 

he hums thoughtfully. “there’s never a wrong time for fries,” then, leering at san, he adds: “but, my dear little san, what was that?” 

san, the picture of innocence, gives him a clueless look. the poor, oblivious dork. “what was what?” he asks, nose scrunching in confusion. 

“don’t give me that look, sannie,” wooyoung smirks, booping san’s nose. the blond only looks more confused. “you were totally flirting with that waitress.” 

“what? i totally wasn’t!” san exclaims, sticking his hands up in defense. “i just smiled at her!” 

“your smile could cure cancer, you know,” wooyoung says, his lips curving upwards. “but, not the point! she smiled back at you, all sweetly. it’s like i was a speck of dust in the corner of the booth, subjected to being ignored,” he sighs, throwing an arm over his head melodramatically. 

“forgotten! by my own best friend!” wooyoung wails, pretending to sob, causing san to throw a sugar packet at him so he could shut up. 

“wooyoung, i literally want to choke you sometimes,” san pretends to be fed up, but he can’t stop himself from smiling. “besides, she was literally doing her job, and being nice, you onion.” 

wooyoung leans in conspiratorially, gasping. “san, you can’t just reveal your kinks out loud! not everyone needs to know that you like choking people.” 

the flick on the forehead that he gets is deserved, wooyoung supposes. after they settle down, san shoots him a concerned look.

“so,” he starts slowly, like talking to a child on the verge of a tantrum. “the crisis? what happened?”

wooyoung’s smile drops, and he sighs, remembering the reason they were here in the first place. he crosses his legs on the booth, and leans his chin into his hands again, fiddling his thumbs. 

“it started with an argument with my mom.” he can’t even remember what the argument was about — probably something dumb, like forgetting to fold the laundry. “and like, i may have accidentally revealed that i was gay.” his gaze flickers up, to gauge san’s reaction, but the blonde keeps his face expressionless. 

“how did she react?” san’s voice is so soft that it’s nearly a whisper, and wooyoung flinches as he recalls it. 

“not well,” the black haired boy laughs, humorless, scratching at the hairs on the back of his neck. “she started crying, or whatever, and before she could say anything, i went into my room.” 

san’s face goes soft, and he the look he gives wooyoung makes him want to curl up into himself. it’s not pity, no, but something soft, indescribable. san gently takes one of his hands, and intertwines their fingers again, thumb stroking the back of his hand. 

“listen,” his best friend says, careful and slow, “your mom loves you, woo. she’s gonna come around eventually, and if she doesn’t, i’ll.. i’ll fight her, or something.” that causes wooyoung to snort, surprised, and san breaks out into a grin. 

“seriously though! if she can’t accept her own son, then i’ll pick you up and we can go run away to like, canada. i don’t know,” he laughs, softly, and wooyoung can’t hold in the sniffle the escapes, eyes going blurry. san’s face goes from concerned to panic in a second, and he goes over to wooyoung’s side of the booth, sliding in until they’re thigh to thigh, and engulfs wooyoung in a tight hug. 

“hey, don’t cry,” he murmurs, close to wooyoung’s ear, “i was just fucking around, i’m sorry. i know she’s gonna come around, woo,” his arms are secure around wooyoung, and wooyoung lets his head rest on san’s shoulder, just for a moment, before pulling away. 

“i know, i know,” he sniffles, wiping the stray tears that escaped. “i wasn’t crying because of that, i was crying because you’re the greatest best friend i could ask for, and i’m really grateful for you.” 

san’s ears flush bright red, and this time, he’s the one rubbing at the back of his neck. “what, are you falling for me or something, wooyoung?” he jokes, trying to lighten the mood, and wooyoung knocks their shoulders together, snorting. 

“you wish,” wooyoung grins, then poking the other’s cheek. “all jokes aside though, thank you,” his voice is sincere and the smile san gives him in response is blinding.

“anytime, dork-lord.” san’s already moving back to the other seat, much to wooyoung’s dismay. ( _wait—what?)_

“but accidentally coming out isn’t even the biggest part of my crisis!” wooyoung cries out, in an attempt to distract himself from the pathetic beating of his heart. “in my state of distress, i accidentally deleted my favorite minecraft world.”

san has the decency to gasp for him. “seriously?” 

solemnly, wooyoung nods. “seriously. and that, dear saniel, is the reason that i called you, because i was two seconds away from tears.” 

before he can grieve about the loss of his minecraft world, yerim comes back with his food, sliding it onto the table with a smile. 

“we didn’t have any more coke left, sweetie, but we did have vanilla coke, if that’s okay?” she asks, placing the glass down in front of him. wooyoung shrugs, accepting it with a small smile, and they both give yerim a thanks. 

what’s the difference between vanilla coke and regular coke anyways? 

-

there is in fact, a big difference between vanilla coke and regular coke. 

“what the _fuck_ ,” he curses as he takes a sip of the drink, nose scrunching up. san looks up from his coffee to shoot him a questioning glance, and wooyoung gestures wildly to the soda.

“this! this is not coke,” he splutters, after swallowing the sad excuse for a soda. san rolls his eyes, and takes another sip of his gross coffee. 

“you’re overexaggerating, wooyoung,” san sighs out, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. the sight makes wooyoung’s heartbeat pick up again, but he ignores it in lieu of taking another sip.

“i’m totally not! it tastes like.. fucking chapstick, or something.” that makes san start giggling, high pitched and absolutely obnoxious. 

“chapstick?” he breathes out between laughs, banging his hand against the table. “wooyoung, you’re such a crackhead, what the _fuck.”_

“san, i’m serious! try it yourself if you don’t believe me!” 

san, humoring him, wraps his fingers around the cup and tugs the straw between his lips. wooyoung is ready to gloat triumphantly once san admits that he’s right, but life has other plans for him.

san’s lips wrap around the straw, glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose again as he takes a sip of the coke. the god-forsaken sweater shifts, sliding off one of his shoulders ever so slightly. the lighting makes sharpness of his collarbones stand out more obviously.

wooyoung’s smile falls off as his mind strays off to very _not innocent_ places. he swallows, his tongue feeling like sandpaper against his suddenly dry mouth. he doesn’t realize that he’s staring at san’s lips, zoned out, until san’s hand waves in front of his face. 

“-young. wooyoung!” 

“huh?” wooyoung stills feels distracted as he snaps back into reality. san’s gazing at him pointedly, amusement dancing in his eyes as he slides the soda back across the table.

“i was _trying_ to tell you that there’s absolutely nothing wrong with the coke, but you zoned out,” san still looks amused, for some reason, and wooyoung takes a moment to give his best friend another once-over. 

his hair is ruffled again, but in a good way, and clearly, during the time that wooyoung was fantasizing about his lips, he straightened out his sweater. wooyoung frowns as he looks at the ugly neon green _thing_ again, absolutely annoyed at the way it still manages to flatter san. he takes another sip of the chapstick coke, pursing his lips.

he’s come to realize two things; vanilla coke is an absolute disgrace to all soda, and san is _really fucking attractive._ both make him varying levels of annoyed. 

“annoyed at what?” san asks, quirking a brow, and wooyoung realizes that he must’ve said that last part out loud. 

for some reason, the corners of wooyoung’s eyes begin to burn again, eyesight getting blurry. he doesn’t know whether it’s the exhaustion catching up with him, or if he’s finally gone senile, but he starts fucking crying. for the second time today, in the middle of a dingy diner. absolutely wonderful. san’s face falls again in a comically short amount of time, and he tilts up wooyoung’s head, wiping a stray tear that escaped from the corner of his eye. 

“what—wooyoung? why are you crying?” he asks, worried, and wooyoung just shakes his head, blubbering like a loser. 

“this coke is fucking gross and you’re annoyingly fucking hot, even in that stupid, ugly sweater,” is hiccuped out between tears, and wooyoung looks at everything other than san.

the other blinks owlishly with surprise, and a shit-eating grin spreads across his lips.

“wooyoung,” san’s voice is soft as he cradles the other’s jaw, making wooyoung look at him. wooyoung sniffles again, wiping away his tears, trying to pull away, but san keeps him there, still grinning. 

“did you call me hot?” 

red hot embarrassment spreads through wooyoung, and it's like the tentacle porn crisis all over again. he looks away, shame curling in his gut.

“wooyoung, look at me,” san hums, soft but demanding, and wooyoung hesitantly turns to look at the blond again. 

“yes, i did, you absolute fucker,” wooyoung admits in a rush, pursing his lips again. it only makes san’s grin grow wider, teasing, and wooyoung bats the other’s hand away. 

“san, i swear, if you make fun of me, i’ll—“ he’s cut off by a pair of soft lips pressing against his, and in a moment of panic, he knocks down the entire glass of vanilla coke. 

“oh, my god,” wooyoung gasps, breaking away from the kiss to sop up the mess with napkins, before realizing what just happened. his eyes snap up to san again, who’s silently laughing, and wooyoung’s face burns bright red.

“oh, my god!” he repeats, pointing a finger at san accusingly. “you—you just kissed me!” he whisper-shouts, and san just grins, nodding. 

“do you want me to do it again?” san asks, lips curling into a wicked smirk, and wooyoung’s cheeks burn as he shrieks into his hands. 

“yes, i want you to do it again,” he snaps, gesturing wildly. “but like, what the fuck?” 

instead of answering, san presses a small amount of bills onto the table, enough to cover their meal and then some, and tugs wooyoung out of the diner. yerim nods at the both of them, eyes twinkling mischievously, and when they’re both outside, san stops suddenly, turning to him. 

“wooyoung,” he says, voice surprisingly serious. “do you have feelings for me?” wooyoung feels a flush spread all the way down to his neck at the unexpected question, and he considers it. _does he have feelings for san?_

he thinks about san’s dimples, the high-pitched sound of his laugh, the way he never hesitates to curl himself around wooyoung, always clinging onto him. he thinks about the warmth of san’s fingers, and san’s stupid car, and how san is always, _always_ there to support wooyoung and pick up the pieces. he thinks about the softness of his lips, the curve of his eyelashes, and curses quietly once it hits him. he was in love with his best friend. 

“i—yeah. i do, san,” he whispers, looking at his feet. san just smiles, and grabs wooyoung’s hand, interlacing their fingers for the third time that night. 

“that’s good,” he says, like it’s the most simple thing in the world, eyes crinkling. “because i have feelings for you too, wooyoung. even when you wake me up in the middle of the night, and when you whine, and when you’re an absolute mess.” 

“kiss me, you idiot,” it’s breathless, and when wooyoung tilts his head up san meets him halfway, pressing their lips together. 

he doesn’t know how long they kiss in the parking lot, the harsh neon lights basking them in a pink glow, but it doesn’t matter. 

once they break apart, san’s cheeks are flushed red, and he grins sweetly, pecking wooyoung on the cheek.

“so, has the crisis successfully been averted?” he teases as they bump shoulders, and wooyoung shoves at him, playfully. 

raising a single eyebrow, he gestures to the sweater again. “i don’t know, san, i might just have another crisis over the hideousness of that sweater.”

rolling his eyes, san starts his jeep up with a hum. “you know that you secretly love it.”

“i would rather drink three gallons of that nasty coke before ever liking that sweater.” 

san drives him back home, holding his hand the whole time, and wooyoung comes to realize a few more things. 

first, no matter what the circumstances are, he thinks, san would always be there. 

secondly, san really _could_ wear anything and still look good. what a bitch. 

the night ends with wooyoung climbing back up into his room, finally drifting into sleep. this time around, he’s ready to face whatever dumb crisis he puts himself in. 

**Author's Note:**

> im formally sorry  
> (in my defense most of this was written between the prime hours of 1-4 am)


End file.
